


An Empty Heart, A Hopeful Heart

by Hammermaster02



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Explicit Language, F/M, Fluff, M/M, No sex though, None of the relationships are really romantic, Some angst, also pesterlogs are awful, fuck those things, possible trigger warnings, that'd be weird, underage drinking mentioned
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-03
Updated: 2017-01-24
Packaged: 2018-05-19 23:35:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5984839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hammermaster02/pseuds/Hammermaster02
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dirk and Roxy are as close as two people can get without it being sexual. One day, Dirk recieves some pretty devastating news. In the wake of this news, Dirk makes a new friend in the form of a nine-year-old named Jake English.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CosmahCosmo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CosmahCosmo/gifts).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey there! I wrote this at the request of a friend who is DirkJake trash and figured I should post it. Why not, right?  
> Be ready for some heavy shit during this chapter.

\-- tipsyGnostalgic [TG] began pestering timaeusTestified [TT] at 21:36 --

TG: yooooooo di stri!

TG: just hitting you up to see if you want to

TG: idk

TG: go out to eat tomorrow or some shit

TG: for no particular reason

TG: i know a pretty sick joint we can hit up

TG: not very expensive

TG: great choices of drinks

TG: youre not even up are you?

TG: le sign

TG: well when you get this let me know

TG: its important

\-- tipsyGnostalgic [TG] ceased pestering timaeusTestified [TT] at 21: 41 --

Your name is Dirk Strider. After receiving Roxy’s message a few hours later, you message her with a conformation and inquiry about where the hell you're going. You get the address and go on your way, unsure of why she would want to meet like this so suddenly. Normally, your best friend asking you to go out to eat would be fine, but something about her pesterlog seemed fishy. You just can’t put your finger on it.

In any case, you are now walking through the streets of the city you call home, listening to the hustle and bustle of people going to work, tourists attempting to find their way around, and street performers doing their thing. It's a beautiful day out, the sun shining brightly overhead. If not for your sick shades, you'd probably be blind right now.

You finally reach your destination, a restaurant called “The Diamond Burger,” its diamond-shaped red neon sign flickering in the daylight. You'd been there on occasion, but never with Roxy. It wasn't bad food, and it was cheap, which was very helpful as a college student. Plus, the burgers were actually diamond shaped, which was sick.

You walk into the empty restaurant and see Roxy sitting at a booth in the far corner, wringing her hands nervously. You're surprised to see no alcohol in her hand, which puts you on high alert. What the fuck is going on here? Despite both of you only being 17, Roxy always found a way to get some sort of booze. Oh yeah, both you and Roxy got into college early. You’re both sort of geniuses.

“‘Sup ptebrodactyl?” You say as you sit down, startling her enough to punch you in the nose. You recoil slightly, muttering, “Shit,” under your breath.

“Omg I’m so sorry Dirk! Are you okay?” Roxy quickly gets up and looks you over, her hands wringing even more.

“Yeah, I'm cool Rox. What's got you so riled up?” Roxy suddenly deflates a little, almost unnoticeably so, but you're a boy genius and that shit never gets by you. She still tries to play it cool.

“Nothing. You want something to drink?” You raise your eyebrow, but decide to let it go for now.

“Sure.” You order an orange soda and just sort of sit there in silence for a while.

“So,” you eventually say, “how are your classes going?” Roxy heaves a sigh.

“Fine I guess. These programming classes are, like, soooo basic though. I feel like I'm wasting my time.” You chuckle, your mouth quirking up into a smirk.

“I'm feeling the same way. All the robotics their teaching is _beyond_ basic. I've made more complex things in my sleep.” Roxy giggles, smiling for the first time since you got here.

“Same though! My l33t haxor skills are,  like, the holy grail to the newbs in my class. Like, if they even want the chance to get them, they have to fight past a fucking old ass knight, then pick the crappy looking cup among the really fancy ones. Also, Harrison Ford is there.” You laugh again. Roxy’s attempts at metaphors always amuse you.

When the food you ordered finally arrives, Roxy pipes up saying she’ll cover the bill.

“Okay Roxy, what's this all about? First you invite me to lunch for no reason, then you just decide to pay for it? What is this, a proposal or some shit?” Roxy deflates very visibly this time, even an imbecile could have seen it.

“Okay... Dirk, I have some... Something to tell you.” You frown slightly.

“What's up? Are you dropping out?”

“No I-”

“Are you moving away?”

“Dirk I'm not-”

“Holy shit are you fucking _preggers_?”

“Dirk shut the fuck up this is hard as shit already!!” Roxy looks about ready to cry, which is very unlike her. What the actual fuck is going on here?

“Okay, I'm sorry Rox. What's up?”

“Dirk, I... Okay, so I'm not really sure how to say this but..... Oh fuck.” Roxy suddenly breaks down sobbing into her arms.

“Aw, shit Roxy.” You slide over to her side of the table and wrap your arms around her. “Hey, it’ll all be fine. Whatever’s happening we can work through it together, right?” Roxy just starts crying more, but not a loud, obnoxious sob. She's completely silent, the only indication of her sadness the shaking of her shoulders and the tears streaming down her face.

“No we can't Dirk!” She mumbles through her sobs. “We can't because I... I...” She can't finish her sentence, only shoving her face into your shoulder.

“Hey now. How long have been looking out for each other? Oh yeah, our whole lives. No matter what's wrong I’ll find a way to fix this.” Roxy suddenly sits up and stares right in your eyes through your shades, tears streaming down her face as she shrieks,

“No!! You can't fix this Dirk! No one can!”

“Why not?”

“Because I'm fucking dying!” This shuts you up. You blink a few times, trying to wrap your head around what she just said.

“...What?” Roxy turns away from you, tears still streaming down her face.

“I’m dying Dirk.” She manages quietly between frightened sobs. “I only found out yesterday. Apparently I've had fucking lung cancer for years now. The fact that I'm still alive is a miracle.” You struggle to keep your cool. This can't be fucking happening.

“...What made decide to see the doctor about it?”

“You told me you thought the drinking was a problem a few days ago, so I stopped. Btw, that was really really fucking hard. Anyway, then I started noticing I could barely breath.” Fuck this was actually happening. “The doctors said the alcohol was masking the pain of not breathing.”

“Roxy, what the fuck are doing here, why don't the doctors have you hooked up to something?” Roxy blushes.

“Well, actually, I'm supposed to be in bed right now.”

“Roxy what the fuck is wrong with you!?!?” Roxy looks angry now, raising her voice again.

“I didn't want you to see me like they had me set up! I looked fucking weak and helpless and I couldn't stand the thought of that being your last memory of me!” God fucking dammit now you were crying too.

“Roxy I...” You can hear your voice breaking, and you try to keep yourself together, for her sake. You fail miserably, breaking down in an embarrassing display of tears and sobs. Roxy wraps herself around you, her shoulders shaking hard. The two of you stay like that for a while. You’re really glad there isn’t anyone else in here at the moment, for a lot of reasons. After what feels like eternity, Roxy sits up and looks at you.

“I’m so sorry Dirk, I just-”

“Shut up.” You manage to get out. “Shut your mouth Roxy. What in the name of Christ makes you think any of this is your fault?” You take off your shades, something you’ve only done one other time, when Roxy’s parents disowned her years ago. Roxy recognizes this and what it means, which causes her to freeze. You look right into her violet eyes, your orange ones wavering slightly. “You have done nothing to deserve this. Any of this. You are the best bro any homosexual young adult could ask for.” Roxy almost laughs at that. Almost. “You were there for me when my first robot exploded, when I first came out, when... when Bro died.” Your eyes begin to water. You should not have thought about Bro in this moment in time, it’s just making things harder. You keep the eye contact.

“You’ve always had my back, and now it’s my turn.” You take her hands, pulling her closer to you. “What’s going to happen now is you and I are going to go back to the hospital. And I’m not going to leave your side for a second. Okay?” Roxy shuts her eyes tightly, tears streaming down her face, and nods. You slowly get up, still looking at Roxy to make sure she stays with you. She places the money for the bill on the table, right next to the uneaten food.

“No Roxy, let me-.”

“I swear to jegus Dirk if you try to baby me in any way because of this I will haunt your ass!” snaps Roxy. “Just give me this! Please...” That last bit comes out quietly, but you can still hear her voice break a little. You don’t want her to start crying again, not now.

“Okay, it’s okay, it’s fine. I really appreciate it.” Roxy sniffles, her eyes tearing up again. Then she gasps and grasps at her chest.

“Dirk, I-.” She crumples in on herself as she gasps for air. All this crying must be getting to her.

“Holy shit Roxy, come here.” You put your arm around her shoulder, supporting her as you walk as fast as possible out of the shop. You barely notice how much the sun stings your unprotected eyes as you guide Roxy toward the hospital. Thank god it’s only a few blocks away; you’re not sure how much more walking Roxy can handle in this state, which is to say, a state of perpetual tears. She’s barely moving at a shamble, her mind much more focused on the gripping depression that comes from knowing you're about to die. You are refusing to let the fact that your best friend is dying sink in. Not now, when she needs someone to lean on.

Something else you fail to notice is how everyone around you is opening up a path, likely out of how uncomfortable they are getting from your bright orange eyes. That was the biggest reason you always wore your shades; people just didn’t get it. The other reason was because the hardest area of your face to mask emotion on is your eyes. You learned a long time ago that if people can read your emotions than they’ll use them to their advantage. And you don’t normally want that shit in your life, but at this moment in time you don’t give a fuck. All you care about is seeing Roxy get to the hospital and from there... You’re not sure.

When you and Roxy get to the hospital, the receptionist immediately calls down one of the doctors in a slight panic, saying the lost patient has been found and is in a very unstable condition. _Yeah, no shit_ , you think. Roxy pulls you in tighter, eyes wide in abject terror. “Dirk, I can’t breath.” she breaths out past large gasps for air. You press your forehead against hers, quietly shooshing her, whispering, “It’s going to be alright. I’m not going anywhere.” Roxy jams her eyes shut refusing to believe that this is happening. You bring Roxy over to one of the benches and sit with her, papping her cheek gently in an attempt to calm her down. You sit like that for what feels like forever, but was likely only a couple minutes. You’re so engrossed with Roxy’s well being that you don’t notice the doctor until he clears his throat.

“Pardon my intrusion, but I’m afraid Ms. Lalonde is going to need to come with me.” You look up at the man, whose face is startlingly white and startlingly bald. He’s wearing a long white coat with a bright green shirt and pants beneath it. His name tag reads ‘Dr. Scratch.’ You look right into his eyes, and he takes an involuntary step backward, your eyes boring into his soul.

“I’m staying with her.” Doc Scratch nods slightly and gestures toward the hallway ahead of you.

“I thought you’d say as much. I am nothing if understanding. If you’ll just come with me, we’d like to attempt to stabilize her.” Picking Roxy up in a sitting position, you and Scratch rush down to the Emergency Room. Roxy is immediately injected with something to knock her out. There’s a lot the doctor’s need to do in order for Roxy to stabilize, and they don’t have a lot of time. At least, that’s what you pick up from the commotion going on in the ER. During said commotion some angry looking idiot tries to grab you and remove you from the room. He’s an idiot because by doing so he’s put his life in jeopardy. Combining Roxy’s current position plus you’re normally high-alert senses, the second this guy touches you, you put him into a choke hold out of instinct, eliciting a, “Fucking hell!!” out of him. You lean down to the guy's ear.

“I’d suggest not touching me right now, brotality,” you growl. “I’m not going to any fucking waiting room while my best friend is on the verge of death.”

“Look shit biscuit, you can’t fucking be in here, it’s against regu-.” You tighten your hold.

“I don’t give a fuck dude. I’m going to stay here, and there’s not a damn thing you can do about it. Are you picking up what I’m throwing down?” The doc mutters,

“God fucking dammit,” but nods, and you release your hold on him. Despite how much you want to be right next to Roxy right now, you know how delicate this process will be. You decide that the smartest thing to do right now would be stay out of the doctors’ way, so you walk over to the wall next to the entrance and lean against it as you slip your shades back on. Roxy will be fine, no need to freak out. And so you wait. And wait.

Roxy starts having stuff pumped out of her lungs, which would explain why she couldn’t breath. She’s also getting hooked up to some sort of oxygen machine, to help her breath. Fuck she looks so much paler than usual. You feel yourself tearing up and no. Fuck that shit. Not now. She’ll make it. She has to. They’ve hooked her up to a heart-monitor now, the beeping staying at a frighteningly fast pace. Shit shit shit that’s bad that’s very bad and oh fuck Scratch is walking toward you with his mouth flat shit this can't be happening.

Scratch pulls you out of the room, a grim expression on his face. “Well, we’ve done what we can. She's as stable as she's going to get, but her years of alcohol abuse isn't helping her condition. Her system is on serious withdrawal, and based on what she told us before she ran off, the alcohol also allowed her cancer to thrive without treatment.” He puts a hand in your shoulder as you bow your head in dread of the words you know are coming. “It's too late for us to do anything more. I'm sorry.”

Despite you knowing they were coming, you can still feel your heart shatter into a million pieces at the sound of those last words. That’s it then. No ifs, ands or buts. Roxy isn’t going to make it.

“I’m staying with her. She needs me.” Scratch nods, his eyes full of understanding.

“Of course. I’ll tell the doctors to leave you two alone. Please let us know when she-.” You refuse to hear him say it outloud so bluntly, so you interrupt with,

“Yeah yeah I will.” You walk over to Roxy’s bed, the heart monitor still beeping like a microwave on fast forward. It’s all you can do not to immediately break down. You manage to last about two seconds before everything hits you like freight train. You fall to your knees, sobbing over Roxy’s dying body. Why does shit like this always happen to you? What does the universe think you’ve done to deserve this shit? You sob for what feels like an eternity when you feel tear-induced shaking that’s not coming from you. You sit up and look at Roxy, her skin matching her hair in color and god fucking dammit she’s so fucked.

“Dirk,” she manages past racking sobs, “thank you. For everything. You’re the best fucking friend a gal could have, and I wouldn’t have traded you for anything. Even the chance to be a real-life badass wizard!” You can’t open your mouth, because if you did you’d completely embarrass yourself. So instead you wrap your arms around Roxy’s neck and bawl like a baby into her neck. The heart monitor is getting faster, fuckthatsbadthatsreallybadthatsreallyreallyfuckingbad. You try to calm yourself down, for her sake. She deserves every second on this Earth she can get. You still don’t trust yourself to say anything, so you take your shades off and just look into her eyes, trying to convey everything you want to say but can’t. _You mean more to me than you can possibly imagine I’m sorry for anytime I used you as a crutch for my issues you deserved so much more than I could give you. I love you Rox. More than anything in this universe._

After you finally calm down, you tell Roxy she needs to rest. That you’ll be right next to her the whole time. “But Dirk, what if I-.”

“Shoooooosh.” You gently touch Roxy’s cheek, brushing her hair behind her ear with your thumb. “Everything is going to be okay. Just rest, your body needs it.” It hurts you to lie so obviously, and it probably wasn’t the best idea to lie with your shades off. She obviously notices how much bullshit you're spewing, and Roxy’s eyes begin to shine with tears. Fuck, now you feel guilty. But the comfort-lies go both ways as she nods in “agreement” and shuts her eyes, somehow immediately falling asleep. The heart monitor slows by a fraction of a beat. You stay right next to Roxy, just like you promised, holding her hand with your left hand and gently brushing her cheek with your right, whispering, “You’re going to be alright,” over and over in her ear, in a hope that you can use the power of suggestion to change the inevitable.

Hours and hours pass, the heart monitor not changing its speed until about 2:00 in the morning when it begins to slow down, drastically. You break down, grabbing Roxy’s hospital gown, pulling her in close, and then crying the hardest you’ve ever cried in your life. Harder than when Bro died, until it abruptly flatlines.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for getting this far! The pesterlog was a pain, and I'm not sure I'm 100% okay with how it ended up, but whatevs. This is why I will never be a programmer; simple text formatting has me in pain. Also, I felt like the biggest piece of shit while writing this chapter. I nearly cried and I fucking wrote it, so... I'm sorry (not really). Anyway, this will probably be a 3-4 chapter story. I'm not quite sure yet. See you next time! Please leave a positive or negative comment below. If you decide on negative, don't be rude. I accept any and all constructive criticism.  
> Also, this fic was inspired by this: http://cdn.givesmehope.com/2009/12/5/l_0_givesmehope.com_28124_1367357343.jpg


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More heavy stuff this chapter. Trigger warning for suicidal thoughts.

_What the fuck am I supposed to do now? My entire other half is now gone forever. I... I don’t know how I’m going to live anymore._ You continue to agonize over your reason for continued existence when the doctors burst in. They were obviously monitoring her so they would know when she... When she needed to be moved. You get up and shuffle out of the ER, blankly looking straight ahead. You think you see Scratch rushing back to the room with a young boy with messy black hair, but you aren’t really noticing anything at this point.

An old nurse with pale skin and white hair in the reception area, at least 60 years old, pulls you aside before you can leave. “Excuse me, dear? I’m sorry, but could you possibly fill out some paperwork for us? It’s important for our archives.” This pisses you off more than you can describe, and it’s enough to make you snap.

“Is that all she is to you? A fucking number?! This may be news to you, Ms-” You glance at her tag and see the words “Ms. Paint” on it. “Ms. Paint, but that number you’re trying to ‘archive’ was my only reason left for me to live and now she’s gone. So if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go jump in front of a bus now. Thank you.” You begin to storm outside, but Ms. Paint puts a gentle hand on your shoulder, stopping you in your tracks. This nurse's voice suddenly seems filled with extreme soothing and compassion.

“I’m so sorry, I know how you’re feeling right now and no one your age should have to go through this. I hate to ask this of you, but, as you probably know, her parents aren't... Around anymore.” Yeah no shit, her parents both died overseas, of course they're not around anymore. “You're the person she said to see about the necessary paperwork.” You heave a sigh.

“Fuck, fine.” You fill out all the stupid forms or whatever, insurance, yada yada yada. Why can’t these people just leave you alone? After you finish the forms, you begin to exit once more.

“Wait, dear. I was thinking, and it might be best if you stay with us tonight. It is about 2:00 in the morning, and I don’t feel comfortable letting anybody out by themselves, least of all a 17-year-old kid.” Holy shit, have you really been here for that long? You don’t let your shock show on your face, and instead roll your eyes.

“Listen, I know it may not look it, but I think I can handle a few muggers on my own.” The nurse looks at you, her voice full of melancholy.

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Well then what do you...” Oh. You said that part about jumping in front of a bus out loud, didn’t you? So much for that idea.

“Please? If not for your own sake, at least let an old lady sleep peacefully tonight.” No, you can’t stand living another second without her, her smile, her laugh, her everything. You just... Need to... You heave a sigh.

“Alright, fine. If it’ll help you sleep, I’ll stay in this god forsaken building.” You just can’t say no to this woman. She gives you a kind, sincere smile.

“I appreciate that. I’ll let Doctor Scratch know.” She hobbles off toward the ER, while you are forced to once again be alone with your thoughts.

 _There’s no way this is real. This is just some sick fucks fanfiction or something, and it’ll all end soon. I’ll just wake up from this awful nightmare and everything will be okay._ You put your face into your hands in an attempt to stop the tears; it doesn’t work. You sit there and fucking sob like the pathetic piece of shit you are. You need someone to talk to. You desperately pull out your phone and start pestering Roxy.

 

\-- [TT] began pestering tipsyGnostalgic [TG] at 00:36 --

TT: Rox, can I just talk to you for a second? I hate to bother you, with you being dead and all.

TT: I just thought this would be fucking therapeutic or some shit.

TT: You know, find some fucking closure or something.

TT: Anyway, I just wanted to let you know that I fucking miss you. You were one of the only friends I had.

TT: What am I saying, you were my only friend.

TT: My number one broseph.

TT: And you’re the only reason I’m still here, talking to your now completely useless Pesterchum account.

TT: Hell, does anyone even still use Pesterchum?

TT: I guess that’s what made you so awesome. You didn’t care that Pesterchum is one of the most outdated chat clients to ever exist ever, because it was how we communicated, and that’s all that mattered.

TT: You didn’t care about the fucking packaging, you appreciated me for me. And I will always love you for that.

TT: Even if it’s from beyond the grave.

TT: ...Holy hell I’ve finally gone off the deep end.

\-- timaeusTestified [TT] ceased pestering tipsyGnostalgic [TG] at 00:46 --

 

Well that didn’t work. Some much for “therapeutic,” all that did was make you feel like an insane person. More so than when you used to talk to your auto-responder. At least he talked back.

“Ahem.” You look up at Scratch with no hint of the emotion you’re feeling on your face. “I have been informed that you will be staying with us for the night. If you could come with me, I'll take you to your temporary room.”

“Sure. Whatever, broham.” You shove your hands into your pockets, keeping your head down. You don’t want to chance him gleaming into how you’re feeling. If that happened you’d be stuck here for even longer. You’ll just stay the night for that adorable old nurse, and then go home and blow your brains out.

Scratch leads you up a few floors to your room, a completely deserted room except for two beds, separated by a wall of cloth. At least it was empty. In fact, the entire 3rd floor was empty. “This is where you will be staying for the night. There’s a call button on the wall by the bed, feel free to call us for anything you may need. We have a number of employees certified in psychotherapy, so if you need to talk to someone, please don’t hesitate to ask.”

“Whatever.” You shuffle over to the bed and flop face down into the pillow. Scratch writes something on his clipboard, the scratching clearly audible to your highly alert ears. “Yo, doc. What are you writing?” You aren’t looking, but you can almost hear his body stiffen at that.

“Nothing that concerns you at the moment. I’d suggest getting some sleep, Mr. Strider.” Yeah, like that’s going to happen. The door to your room closes as you roll onto your back, the space where your heart used to be aching. The ceiling sure had a lot of interesting details. That collection of spots over there looks like a star. That one looks like a bowtie. That one looks like a  cat. And there’s a bottle. And there’s a wizard... Dammit you’re crying again.

The next morning, after a sleepless night of tears, you finally manage to uncomfortably slip into your stoic persona. No reason for the nurses to keep you here as an actual patient. Fuck that. You lay there a while, feeling completely empty inside, when you hear footsteps outside. The door opens and Ms. Paint walks in and sits by the edge of your bed. “How are you doing, dear?” You sit up on your elbows,

“I’m fine. Can I go home now?” The old nurse gives you a sincere smile.

“I suppose you could, but there’s someone I think you should meet first.” Fuck. They’re bringing you to a therapist, that’s just great.

“Look, as much as I appreciate the concern, I’m going to be fine. I don’t need counseling.” Ms. Paint laughs, a kind, sincere laugh.

“That may be the case, but that isn’t what this is about dear. Come with me.” She tries to push herself up, but is clearly struggling.

“Hey, you need some help Ms. Paint?” You get up and take her hand, helping her onto her feet.

“Oh thank you so much dearie.” You smile at her, something you don’t do often, it’s just this woman is so _nice_. She starts chattering as you walk out of the room. “These old bones aren’t what they used to be. Who’d of thought that I’d be doing this job for 70 years?” You stop and turn to this woman, who looks no more than 60, and say,

“You’re not 60?” The nurse’s face flushes.

“Oh goodness, you’re so kind dear! But no, I’m not 60, I’m 95.”

“Bullshit.” You say without thinking. “There’s no possible way you're over 60, much less 95!” Ms. Paint giggles, and starts walking again.

“I’m flattered, Mr. Strider.”

“Please, call me Dirk. Mr. Strider sound uppity and lame.”

“I would have to agree with you Dirk. All this “Mr.” and “Mrs.” talk grates on you after a few years, you know.” Where was this lady your whole life? She’s the coolest old lady ever. Of all time. “Oh! Look at that, we’re here.” You look up and see you’re back in front of the ER.

“...What are we doing here?” You _really_ don’t want to be here. Ms. Paint gives you a kind smile.

“I know, this isn’t the best place to be for you right now, but like I said, there’s someone I think you should meet.” The woman opens the door, leading you to the bedside. Laying in the bed is a small boy, maybe eight or nine, with pitch black, tousled hair and the greenest eyes holy shit. That shit’s unnatural or something, no human has eyes that green. Wait, if you can see his eyes, that means he’s not sleeping. “Good morning Jake, my name is Ms. Paint. How are you feeling?” The kid grins from ear to ear.

“I’m feeling as chipper as ever, thank you. And how are you doing this fine day, Ms. Paint?” Fuck, this kid is precise. Must be rich or something.

“I’m feeling quite well, thank you dear.” Why did she want you to meet this kid? He doesn’t seem all that special. “Dirk, this is Jake English. He just had a heart transplant.” You can’t understand why that matters to you.

“Why does that matter to me?” Ms. Paint smiles, then hands you the clipboard by the bed.

“I think you might be interested to know _who_ donated the heart.” You skim through the paper on the clipboard, still skeptical until you see her name. Roxy’s name.

“Oh...” Jake gives you a sad look.

“I’m deeply sorry old chap, I really am. The doctors told me everything when I first woke up, and I’d like to offer my condolences.” You don’t really hear him, all you can think about is _why the fuck didn’t Roxy tell you about this?_ “I am eternally grateful to your old mate, you know. I wouldn’t be here if she hadn’t helped.” You turn to the nurse.

“How does this even work, she had cancer. Shouldn’t organ donation be fucking off limits or something?”

“Luckily for dear Jake here, the cancer hadn’t spread to the rest of her body. It stayed contained in her lungs. When we told her as much, she immediately said that she wanted to donate her organs to anyone who needed them because, and I quote, ‘It ain’t like I’m using the cell sacks anymore, they should be used the shit out of by someone who needs them.” You feel yourself tear up again. _God dammit Roxy. Even after all hope could possibly be found in your situation, you thought of what other people needed before yourself._

“I really am sorry old chap, I-” You turn back to the small child, doing your best to stay stoic behind your shades.

“First of all, I’m not fucking old, I’m 17. Second, good for you kid. Congratulations. You get to keep living your life. I hope you enjoy my best friends heart. You better take care of it, you got that?” Jake nods. “No smoking, drinking, any of that shit. Keep your diet healthy and exercise a lot. That heart means a lot to me, and it should mean a lot to you to.” You turn to leave, when you feel a small tug on your shirt, and turn to see Jake looking up at you with determined eyes.

“Pardon me, old- I mean, pardon me sir, but I was thinking. And since your closest chum’s heart is ticking away inside me now, I’ve decided that I’ll be your new best mate!” Holy shit, this kid.

“I appreciate the sentiment, but you’re, like, eight. I’m 17. This won’t work.”

"I am nine thank you very much." Jake’s determined look doesn’t waver. If anything, it increases in intensity. “I’ll make it work! Do you have any social media accounts?” Damn, this English kid is serious.

“Um... Yeah, I guess... You ever heard of Pesterchum?” Jake’s face lights up.

“Why, that’s my favorite chat client! This was meant to be sir!” Wow. You thought you and Roxy were the only ones who knew Pesterchum existed. Maybe this kid wasn’t so bad after all. After exchanging chumhandles (golgothasTerror what even is that?), Ms. Paint gently ushers you out, saying Jake needs to rest and recover. You guess that’s fair. As you walk out, Jake calls out your name. “I’ll pester you later, after I finish recharging!” You nod, then exit the ER, feeling better than you did when you entered. Not much, but you don’t want to kill yourself anymore at least. Ms. Paint looks at you and giggles.

“I knew that would be good for you.” You roll your eyes, but you know she’s right.

“Yeah, whatever. He’s a good kid, and I didn't want to shut him down, that’s all.” She smiles, but doesn’t push the subject, leading you to the lobby.

“Are you sure you’ll be alright, dear?” Ms. Paint asks. “We’d be happy to have you stay another night.”

“Nah, it’s cool broseph. I’ll keep in touch though. You got a Pesterchum?” Probably not, but at the same time you wouldn’t be surprised.

“Actually, I do! If you’d like, we could exchange handles! I’ll be honest, I didn’t expect to find a Pesterchum user in two people so young.” Fuck, this lady just gets better and better. “My handle is gentleCaretaker, if you’re interested.”

“Hell yeah I’m interested! I’m timaeusTestified, I’ll add you later.” You hold up your right hand in a fist, waiting to get bumped. Ms. Paint raises her eyebrows.

“...What are you doing?”

“Bro, it’s called a fist bump. You’ve never heard of it?”

“I think you forget, dear, that I am 95. I haven’t really kept up with some of the modern practices.” You chuckle, reaching out your left hand to grab her right.

“It’s pretty easy actually. Just raise your arm like this, close your hand and bump it against mine.” You move her arm and hand as you explain, pressing your knuckles against hers. You let go of her hand and her arm swings back to her side.

“Hmm. Interesting. Like this?” Ms. Paint raises her hand and bunches her fingers into a fist, holding it in the air in front of her. You smile and return the gesture.

“Exactly. Later Broham.” You turn around and walk back out into the street, the early morning sun streaming through the skyscrapers surrounding the hospital. The hustle and bustle of the work commute fills you with a strange, serene sense of calm. You glance at the sun, and decide it's about 7:00. You’re supposed to have an “advanced” robotics class in an hour, but you aren't in the mood to sit through two hours of stuff you already know. You just need to go home and sleep. The effect of staying up all night is finally hitting you. You aren't normally this susceptible to exhaustion but... This was different. Besides, you've made a couple new friends, and you want to be semi-functional when they contact you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Man, writing these first 2 chapters were the WOOOOOOORST. I hate putting dirk through all of this, but it'll be worth it for the deadly amounts of fluff coming your way in the next chapters. Also, I probably am not doing hospital processes properly, but I don't feel like doing that much research, sorry if that offends you for some reason. I'm also sorry that this took so friggin long. I have sever procrastination issues. See you in who knows how long!  
> P.S. WHY DID I PUT ANOTHER PESTERLOG IN THIS I HATE CODING THEM!!!  
> 


	3. Chapter 3

\-- gentleCaretaker [GC] began pestering timaeusTestified [TT] at 07:23 --

GC: happy saturday, dirk! i figured i should give you a day to recuperate before bothering you, and since i don’t have to be at the hospital until nine o’clock, barring an emergency of course, i wanted to check in with you. Are doing well, because i know a young man who’s just bubbling over with excitement to spend some time with you. you should contact him today, he really is bored beyond belief. although i don’t even know if you’re awake or not right now. you needed lots of sleep yesterday, i hope you got it. personally i barely slept a wink last night. i was far to worried about you. i hope you are doing alright. i'm not sure i would be okay in your situation. please respond as soon as possible.

TT: Woah, hello. Sorry, I don’t normally get letters through pesterchum. Maybe try to lower the amount of sentences per line?

GC: oh of course. apologies dear, i don’t talk to a lot of people nowadays.

TT: Hey, don’t worry about it. As for how I’m doing, I don’t even know. I slept like a baby all of yesterday, but I’m still exhausted for apparently no reason.

GC: that’s pretty normal, dirk, especially considering what you’ve been through. i’d recommend letting your teacher know that you need some time away to work through this. you are in school, right.

TT: Yeah, I’m in college actually. Graduated high school three years early along with Rox to skip what is arguably the worst part of a teenagers life. Seriously, high school sucks. And I don’t usually attend my classes anyway, I already know everything they’re teaching me. “Advanced Robotics.” It’s a middle school robotics camp, using those stupid Lego Mindstorm programs compared to what I can do in my sleep.

GC: you’ll have to show me some of the things you’ve created sometime, dirk. it sounds very interesting. you must be very smart if you’re skipping classes like you say.

TT: Wait, so you aren’t going to chew me out for skipping class?

GC: of course not. especially if you know everything. the only question i might have is why you are wasting the money on classes if you can just test out of it.

TT: To be honest, it was mostly because of Roxy. She wanted to have the “full college experience,” and I couldn’t stand her experiencing that without me. If it had been up to me, we both would have tested out to get our degrees, because she totally could have done that. But she wanted to live the college life, so I played along.

TT: Besides, money wasn’t really an issue. We both qualified for full scholarships, being orphans and all.

GC: that must have been so difficult. i can’t imagine growing up without my parents.

TT: It’s fine. Rox and I are always there for each other.

TT: Well, we were. Obviously now that’ll be a little difficult.

GC: you must miss her so much. from how short of a time i knew her she seemed like a wonderful young woman.

TT: She was. She really, really was.

GC: is there anything you’d like to talk about. anything at all.

TT: If you mean about Roxy, not really. Not right now at least. How about you, Sweating to the Broldies?

GC: ‘sweating to the broldies.’ is that a pun.

TT: Yeah. It’s sort of a thing I do. You don’t mind, do you?

GC: oh goodness no. i am in stitches right now.

TT: Well praise baby Jesus, because I wasn’t going to stop even if you couldn’t stand it. Now spill, what’s your story?

GC: oh goodness me. well, i was born and raised on a small farm an hour from here. i wasn’t much of a fan of the work, but i loved taking care of the animals, as well as my family whenever they were sick, or did something stupid to hurt themselves.

TT: Farm life, huh? What made you want to leave? I’d have loved to live a quiet, country lifestyle, rising and setting with the sun.

GC: it’s not all that great, honestly. take it from a 90-year-old ex-farm girl, you have very little free time. although i suppose that’s what prepared me for the nurse life, needing to constantly be ready to get called in. i’ve known ever since i started taking care of my brother when he got pneumonia that i wanted to become a nurse, and when it was time to go to college that’s exactly what i did. fun fact about me; i was a nurse in wwii.

TT: Really? WWII? That’s actually pretty cool. What was that like?

GC: scary. stressful. depressing, especially when we had to take care of a hopeless case, and there were a lot of hopeless cases. but when we managed to pull through and save someone’s life, it was the most rewarding thing i’ve ever experienced.

TT: I can imagine. Any interesting war stories that won’t scar me for life?

GC: not really, just standard nurse work. i suppose there was one patient that was rather notable, but it’s embarrassing.

TT: Woah, embarrassing? Color me intrigued, now you have to tell me.

GC: oh goodness. well, i suppose we should start with the most notable thing: he had one eye, a prosthetic arm and 2 wooden legs.

TT: Bro, that is the most metal as fuck thing I’ve ever heard.

GC: i shall pretend to know what that means. in any case, when he first got sent into the tent, a bullet wound to the chest, the girls were sure he would be bed ridden forever. they didn’t tell him that, of course, but i seemed to be the only one truly invested in his case.

GC: perhaps it had something to do with the fact that was the only nurse he would cooperate with. i was quite sure he fancied me, and if i'm to be blunt i fancied him as well. he had way of speaking that was so eloquent and yet at the same time rough and hardened. there were times that i forgot to help other patients to make sure he was healing. i would always bring him flowers in the morning to cheer him up. He seemed to have a liking for pretty much anything, although that might have just been his excitement to see me. we were always talking about this or that, which were always highlights of my day. he did start getting better, and when it was time for him to leave i helped him out of his bed and he said, 'doll, i hope to find you again out there, somewhere.' i told him where i lived in the hope that when the war was over he could come see me.

TT: Yo, did you guys hook up? Please tell me you did.

GC: well i suppose we did, although our efforts were for naught. after the war was over i went back to my lodging in the same city we are in now, where he somehow had already arrived, waiting at the door like a lost puppy. we got married soon after and tried to have a child. it just was not in the cards for me, and he did not want to force a child into a family that was of our standing, so adoption was out of the question. But we were happy.

TT: That’s so, absolutely adorable.

TT: Wait, “were?” Tell me he didn’t...

GC: yes, he is... no longer with me. but i always tell myself that he’s in a better place now, and we’ll be seeing each other again eventually.

TT: Oh man, I’m so sorry, Ms. Paint. I didn’t realize this was so close to home for you.

GC: don’t apologize, dirk. it’s not your fault, first of all. besides, i feel that talking about such things helps one work through the loss. also, please don't call me ms. paint outside of the hospital. my name is margaret slick, i only use my maiden name at work because it helps some patients feel more comfortable, with the younger sounding name

TT: Wait, Slick? As in Spades Slick, the old mob leader?

GC: yes, that slick. that is also why i use my maiden the name at work, the name is infamous around here.

TT: Bro, you get cooler and cooler by the second. A mob wife, that’s sick. Wait, does that mean you’re the reason The Felt shut down? 

GC: oh goodness no. i was part of the felt for quite awhile. the felt shut down because spades didn't have an heir, plus he was tired of mob work after the war.

TT: Holy shit that’s the coolest thing ever. Hold on I need to tell Roxy this.

\-- timaeusTestified [TT] ceased pestering gentleCaretaker [GC] at 07:47 --

\-- timaeusTestified [TT] began pestering gentleCaretaker [GC] at 07:48 --

TT: ...

GC: oh dirk. are you sure you're going to be okay.

TT: Yeah. Yeah, I'll be fine. I should let you get ready for work. When should I talk to the kid?

GC: the best time would be at around ten o' clock, his room is going to be cleaned before that.

GC: please let me know if you need someone with you. i'd be more than happy to 'hang out' as the kids say these days.

TT: Whatever.

\-- timaeusTestified [TT] ceased pestering gentleCaretaker [GC] at 07:50 --

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woah! Hey! Two updates to this account within the same week! Don't keep your hopes up. Anyway LOOK. MORE PESTERLOGS. WHY DO I DO THIS?? Actually I realized I could copy and past stuff to make coding this 10X easier, and it worked really well. Man, poor Dirk, he's completely fucked up. I had a lot of fun incorporating the Homestuck canon into Ms. Paint's backstory, it all just sort of kept pouring out of me. Next chapter should be where the real fluff begins.


End file.
